Fizz Lupin and the Cage of Amber
by shirobarahime
Summary: A story about the adventures of Remus Lupin's nephew and his friends at Hogwarts. Reposted! R&R!
1. The Minister of Magic

Chapter 1 The Minister of Magic The owl hooted cheerfully, dropping the soggy envelope into the boy's hands. He ducked as drops of water sprayed from the owl's wet feathers as it dove onto its perch, shaking water off its wings. Wiping runny green ink from the thick parchment, he carefully tore the envelope open; was it addressed to him? Yes, there it was- Mr. R. Lupin, written in the same even scribble that was always sending letters to his uncle. Carefully, he pulled out the damp letters, wiping away excess water and ink, praying that the letters would still be legible enough to understand. He was about to sit and read it, when the doorbell rang.  
Trotting to the door, he stood on his tiptoes to look out the peephole, to see a tall, slim man with messy black hair and cheerful green eyes, looking at a piece of paper as if to be sure he had the right address. For a moment or two, he pondered whether to open the door- the man had the looks of an official, with a neat cap and a brilliant emerald green cloak that twisted in the wind. Well, he supposed, no one would come here during a storm unless they really needed something- and so he opened the door.  
"Can I help you with something?" He asked, eyeing the fellow carefully before he would allow him to come in. Things were dangerous enough, with the hate mail sent after his uncle, without strange men trying to break in.  
"Is Professor Lupin here?" The man asked, adjusting his cap to block as much water as could be possible.  
"No, he's out." The boy supplied as the only logical reason, as he stared nervously up at the full moon. Thankfully, he muttered, it wasn't night time yet- though this uncle had better get home soon....He realized the man had said something. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I was thinking," Smiling broadly, the man nodded.  
"Don't worry about it. Can I wait here until he arrives?" The boy frowned, brushing a lock of browny-gold hair from his face, thinking.  
"No. Not tonight, he's ill." Nodding seriously, the man nodded, but did not leave.  
"I understand- the moon is full tonight, isn't it?" Relaxing visibly, the boy nodded, and let him in. "I take it you're his, ah...son?" The man asked.  
Laughing, the boy shook his head. "No, his nephew. My uncle isn't married, he lives with me and my mum. By the way, may I ask who you are? Not that many people know of my uncle's, ?" He finished, puzzled as he tried to figure out what word he was looking for.  
"I'm Harry Potter, I was a student of his while he taught at Hogwarts." With expert timing, the man brushed aside his bangs to reveal a scar every child had grown up hearing tales about. The boy gaped in amazement, then tried unsuccessfully to regain his dignity, stumbling as he took Harry's jacket and hung it over the fireplace to dry. Blushing furiously, he tried to laugh weakly- this was just not his day, his knee still hurt from where he had skinned it that morning. But to his relief, Harry ruffled his hair cheerfully, and he himself stumbled as he untied his boots. That made him feel a bit better- at least wizarding legends could be fools, but to have left him standing out in the rain.  
"Listen, I'm awfully sorry about leaving you out in the rain, sir, its just that not many people who still call my Uncle Remus professor are particularly friendly- except for that one old man who came to visit us last summer, friendly old fellow." The boy apologized, his words tripping clumsily out of his mouth, until Harry held up a calm hand, grinning, motioning for him to be silent.  
"Don't worry about it, it's perfectly all right. What is your name, anyway?" Harry asked conversationally, sitting down on a chair that the boy had pulled out for him.  
"Romulus Lupin, but don't call me that. Hate it- everyone calls me Fizz." He responded cheerfully, plopping down on the couch where he could watch for his uncle to get home.  
"Er, Fizz? That's an unusual name...." Harry commented, trying to decide what one says to the small nephew of a werewolf.  
"All the potions I used to attempt to make when I was younger. ThatÔs really all you need to know, weÔll just say that I'm no Snape." Fizz explained.  
"Well, thank goodness for that! That would be...dangerous, to be living with your uncle if you were Snape." Fizz nodded, and followed Harry's gaze as it fell upon the letter he had yet to open. "Acceptance letter, I take it?"  
"Er, I suppose. They already sent the letter asking Uncle to come back and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, so it must be."  
"Well, is he?" Harry asked, snapping to attention immediately. Fizz raised an eyebrow and laughed, nodding.  
"As long as he doesn't start calling me Romulus," He said, looking at the driveway casually, having given up on the hope that his uncle would be on time. To his surprise, however, he could hear a familiar voice singing loudly and the same clunking of boots on the rug as his uncle entered the house. For a moment, Fizz fought back a hateful memory- and forced a smile onto his face, waiting for the feeling to pass. This was his uncle. It had not been his fault. Suddenly, he was aware his uncle had asked him something, and he foolishly asked him to repeat his question.  
"I asked if your mother was home yet." Remus Lupin, Fizz's uncle, asked, ruffling his nephew's hair merrily while Fizz tried to shake his head, no. He seemed more cheerful than he had been in awhile, and when he saw the heavy books under his arms, he understood why. Lupin had been getting his books for the term he was teaching. But Fizz's sharp eyes did not miss the faint air of nervousness that his uncle had, and he wondered whether it was due to the full moon or due to the fact he was going to be teaching again. Looking relieved, Lupin checked the clock and saw it was only about five in the evening.  
"No, as far as I know she's still at work. She's been getting home later and later...." His voice drifted off, and he walked back to his room as Lupin and Harry began to talk in earnest. Fizz still clutched the soggy envelope in his hands and sat down on the creaky bed, moving aside his raggedy blanket so it wouldn't get wet. His walls were plastered with waving photos of his mother, and his uncle, and the occasional stray relative, and hundreds of old newspaper clippings featuring random famous wizards, and some with just amazing photographs.  
The envelope opened easily under his fingertips, and a number of thick pieces of parchment tumbled out. He read them over carefully, growing more and more excited, until he ran down the stairs whooping, accidentally knocking into his mother who was shaking hands with Harry. Apologizing, he shoved the dripping letter into his mother's hands, who hugged him furiously after she had read them.  
"I'm sorry, Minister, its just that my son's been accepted into Hogwarts, I was worried I would have to teach him at home!" Fizz's mother explained, laughing at Harry's embarrassed face.  
"Minister? I had forgotten." Lupin declared, smiling and congratulating Harry. The new Minister of Magic blushed furiously, and Fizz couldn't help but do the same when Harry shook his hand, congratulating him on being accepted. Harry left within a few minutes, and Lupin proudly declared, "We'll head to Diagon Alley tomorrow, the train leaves in a month! Now sleep, Romulus, and don't read for one night!" Reluctantly, Fizz nodded and headed back up the stairs to his room, letting himself fall on the old bed heavily. Hogwarts. He was really going. The excitement he had felt flew from him as his thoughts jumped immediately to his father, and a weight fell heavily on his chest. But he took a deep breath and steadied himself- he couldn't let himself cry. His father would be happy. For a moment, the familiar wave of anger swept over him towards his uncle, and he had to remind himself hotly that it was not his uncle's fault. It was no one's fault, no one's but the MinistryÔs.  
But he still could not believe that it was true. 


	2. Mr Ollivander

Chapter 2 Mr. Ollivander  
  
He was falling. Long, terrifying licks of black flame danced over him, leaping towards his broom as he clutched his father's waist, biting his lip to keep from screaming. His fingers began to slip, and his cold and weak hands could hold no more....Then his father grabbed him and heaved back onto the broomstick. Coughing, they flew on, and the screeching filled his ears as they flew over the flames below, but he was still cold. A man on a broomstick was chasing them, flocked with wyverns at his back, shrieking and howling as they chased him. This was his fault. He should never have come. His father knocked a man off a broom, and leapt onto it, leaving his son on the other. They both began to charge.  
Why were they chasing him? He was small, nothing. Insignificant. And he was falling, tumbling through the fire, burning him all over.  
"Fizz! Fizz!" A voice called him back. He was shaking, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood where he had clawed at his skin. Who was calling him? He knew the voice, but couldn't register it.... "Romulus!" It was his uncle. No one else, just his uncle, face creased with worry at his nephew's shrieks that had awoken him. "Calm down, please, it's me. Your uncle. Remus." Fizz's breaths were shaky, and it took him awhile to calm down, but he finally did. His face stung, covered with scratches, and his uncle carefully washed his nephew's hands of his own blood- he had the same family tendency, sharp nails. That would be Lupin's fault, while werewolf was not hereditary, parts were passed between siblings. Like his brother, for instance, was always ill at the full moon, and poor Fizz had inherited the claw-like hands and feet and fangs for teeth, not to mention the howling when he yelled. "Here, take some chocolate...." Lupin broke off a piece and handed it to him. Fizz ate it gratefully, calming down more and more as time passed.  
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Fizz asked nervously. Lupin laughed, almost anxiously, relieved to hear his nephew's voice and not howls emerging from his pale lips.  
"Yes, you did, but its all-" He was interrupted before he could continue by a snarl that emerged from his lips and he lurched quite suddenly, then returned to normal. "Sorry about that; I just, er, transformed back to normal when I heard you scream. Are you all right? What was it?" Fizz shivered as the last gray fur disappeared from his uncle's anxious face.  
"I'm fine now, much better. It was a...nightmare. Just a nightmare. About...." His voice drifted off, and he bit his lip. Nodding, he knew his uncle understood- he wasn't the only one who had nightmares, after all. The sun was casting a pale glow into the room, and Fizz clambered out of bed once his uncle had left the room and walked over to his mirror.  
"You oughtn't to claw your face like that, sonny boy!" The mirror scolded in a high-pitched, gruff voice. Rolling his eyes, the boy plopped a towel over it, and wandered to the bathroom and washed the blood from his face, swearing as the soap mixed with his cuts. He jumped into the shower as soon as the water was warm enough, and sang loudly along with the radio to keep himself from feeling the hot water pounding on his face. Very quickly after that, feeling much better and back on earth, he ran back into his room in his bathrobe and changed into his robes. Old and worn, they were comfortable; they used to belong to his uncle, and were still too large for him by far, but he took no notice of his strange appearance as he placed his hair in a small ponytail and cursed himself for looking so much like a girl.  
There was no avoiding it, it was true. He looked like a poor, tired, sick girl. Small and skinny, easily the runt of the family. Long, messy, browny-gold hair that looked a bit like leaves in the fall, and big, sad blue eyes, dark like the sea. Dark like his father's. Everyone said he looked a tremendous amount like his father, and he knew it was true- but surely his father wasn't so small, with such high cheekbones, with such pale skin. Yet there were some things he liked- the claw-like hands, the fangs for teeth, the fact that he was always at least slightly ill at the full moon. It made for interesting conversation, he reasoned, as he tried to squeeze his too-big feet into his old boots and his big hands into too-small gloves. Making a mental note to himself to get new ones, he stepped out to the kitchen, where his uncle and his mother were waiting for him.  
He felt slightly ridiculous; he had scratches all over his face, a baggy and shabby robe, too small boots and gloves- he knew he must look like a fool. But it didn't matter, no one liked his family anyway. And those who did- well, they knew them already. It was no great secret they were poor. After hugging his mother goodbye, eating a bit of toast and promising to be good, they headed out the door to the neighbors, who had installed a portkey in the back yard that sent one directly to Diagon Alley. The fact that Fizz was terrified of fire made him quite a hater of Floo powder- the idea of stepping into a roaring fire was not appealing to him, not in the very least. The neighbors understood this, and being too old to go by Floo powder anyways, and too far away, had received permission from the Ministry to create a portkey. And since then, Fizz and his uncle used it whenever possible- it was much, much easier, and significantly less terrifying.  
The sensation of using a portkey was peculiar, to say the least. Fizz felt as though he was drowning, being pulled through thick pudding by his stomach- until he landed, quite abruptly against a wall and next to a trash can. Calmly, his uncle tapped a certain brick- Fizz could never remember which it was- and the wall slit open, allowing them passage. He never could grow tired of watching magic- he had been raised in a Muggle-esque home, neat and homemade curtains over the windows, starched, at all times. Talking mirrors were as necessary as the strange electricity, as the strange way his mother talked into a plastic something, sausage shaped. To her friends. Lupin seemed quite at home in the magical world, but not the Muggle- for his mother, quite the opposite.  
His father had used to call him the best of two worlds- the quiet, deadly power of the wizarding world and the common, logical sense of the Muggle. But Fizz looked distinctly like a wizard, which was why he was homeschooled. He knew his timetables, his letters and his numbers, more languages than he would ever need to know- his mother, a master linguist, had enjoyed teaching the strange new languages almost as much as she liked learning them. She would quiz him on vocabulary while they worked out in the garden, planting numerous herbs and a rose bush or two, and Lupin (And Fizz too, for that matter) was always amazed at how quickly he learnt the languages. A lot of them were second nature to him, and as he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron (A most popular inn and tavern amongst wizards and witches) he felt as though he might need all of them.  
A few wizards waved at Lupin and shook hands vigorously with Fizz, while others stared, distrusting, and tried to ignore them as they continued through. He felt overwhelmed by the different types of people, like a stranger who shouldn't be there- and it was quite evident that many thought he shouldn't be there. The air was thick and warm, and Fizz sweated underneath his robes, wishing he had bigger boots to move his feet around in.  
"You can go to Flourish and Blotts; I have a few things to pick up at the post office." When Fizz looked questioningly at him, Lupin explained. "It's a bookstore, down and to your left. You've your list, right?" He nodded. "Good. Buy what you need, and charge it to Remus Lupin's account. Understand?" Again, he nodded. Smiling, Lupin clapped him on the back and strode down the street, opposite of the way he had motioned to while explaining the bookstore's location. Fizz took a deep breath and began to stride, imitating the way his uncle walked, towards the bookstore with its large golden sign announcing its name in curly, ridiculously fancy lettering.  
It smelled exactly the way a bookstore should- of pages, of parchment, of old smudged ink on faithful readers' hands. Light poured in through the shining windows, and a young man at the counter waved, quite cheerfully, to him as he looked around. Wall after wall was covered in books, new and old, some of which shook in their bindings and others that seemed to wink and whisper and point at him as he walked past. A History of Alchemy by Nicolas Flamel, Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart, (the old fraud, as his family liked to call him) and- he tripped, sent sprawling to the scarlet carpeting in a heap of ragged robes and limbs.  
"Oh, sorry- are you all right?" A girl stood up, extending a hand to him as Fizz blushed a brilliant red. Of course- only he was thick enough to trip over a person.  
"Yeah, don't worry about it. My fault, didn't look where I was going. You ok?" Fizz asked, standing up and brushing dust and lint off his robes. The girl nodded, thick orange hair bobbing in the torchlight, as she knelt and picked up her books. Waving at him, she left the store, and Fizz relaxed. What kind of idiot was he, to trip over a girl reading? But then again, why was she reading on the floor? He laughed to himself, not feeling quite as ridiculous as he had, and searched for his books. First was- he had to squint, as the writing was smudged- The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk, then A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, One thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and the list went on and on. At least two of the books he knew he already- the potions one, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble.  
Piling them into his arms, they swayed as he walked, trying to see past the power of books in his arms. The assistant took them from him as soon as he stumbled into view, and Fizz told him to charge all of the books to "Mr. Remus Lupin's account, please." He looked skeptical at first, then shrugged and charged the books. Balancing the books into a tower again, he slowly walked out of Flourish and Blotts, hoping that they wouldn't fall. The load was suddenly lightened, when the girl he had tripped over took some books off the top, and helped him carry them all. He smiled at her, and she laughed, shaking her head so that the tiny orange curls sprayed everywhere.  
"What's so funny?" He demanded indignantly, pausing for a moment to glare at her.  
"You, with that great tower of books your were carrying earlier!" She explained, trying her hardest not break out into laughter again. Her eyes were a glittering, cheerful green, and she was by far taller than Fizz- though, it was true- it didn't take much to be taller than him. "Have you gotten your wand, then?" She asked conversationally, and Fizz notices for the first time the slender stick in the pocket of her shirt.  
"No. What kind is yours?" He asked, his fingers stealing her wand from her pocket. It was smooth and polished, with a soft bend to it, and purple satin ribbons were tied onto the end. Now, it was his turn to laugh, and she glared at him in a mock sort of anger.  
"What? I like purple, so sue me!" She explained defensively, blowing purple dust she made come out of her wand into his face. He coughed, and she grinned, quite satisfied that she had gotten that spell right. "It's a willow wand, with the unicorn hair. Thirteen and a half inches. Same hair as my mother, I think." Nodding appreciatively, he handed her back the wand. After he left a message with the barkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron telling Lupin where he was, he headed (with the girl and her purple-ribboned wand) down the road to where Ollivanders stood. Images of wands were on the sign and the finest ones, some of pure gold ("Entirely impractical," She scolded,") were in the windows, winking in the sunlight. "What's your name, anyhow? I'm Trinity,"  
"Fizz." His response was short, because Mr. Ollivander shot him a sharp look that silenced him, before he let them into the shop.  
"Sorry about that, but that last family was particularly against your uncle, Romulus." Mr. Ollivander bowed them inside, and nodded in acknowledgement to Trinity, who smiled and waved cheerfully. "Kept going on and on about how foolish it was to let you in, that you would be a danger to society, and went on and on....Nearly drove me mad, I couldn't get them out of here quickly enough!" Fizz forced a smile onto his face, and Trinity gave him a funny look. Seeing his discomfort, Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together and began to discuss wands. "Now, your family is infamous for being impossible to find wands for....If you'll hold on, I'll get a box I reserve for the most difficult customers. Excuse me," He said to Trinity, who was apparently blocking the entrance to the basement.  
"What did he mean, people think you're a danger to society?" Trinity asked, as Fizz ignored the question and stared out the window. Seeing it was a touchy subject, Trinity let it drop (but did not stop wondering) and watched as Mr. Ollivander emerged carrying a huge box filled with wands.  
"Wand arm, please." Fizz stuck out his right hand, as Mr. Ollivander measured it, muttering to himself. "11 inches, or thereabouts....All right, Mr. Lupin, let's try this one. Oak, dragon heartstring." Fizz took it in his hand, and it just lay there like a piece of dead wood. "Hmmm...." It went like that, on and on, until they reached the bottom of the box, with only wand left. "Well, this is the last one before we go to the usual wands....Not sure where it's from, very, very old. Its from a foreign maker....Eleven inches, rowan. One phoenix feather, supple. Good for transfiguration and defense against the dark arts. Though I doubt it will work...." He handed the wand to Fizz, who took it in his hands. The wood was pale and smooth, with lines of darker wood, as if it had been stained long ago, with ink. It was smooth to the touch, with pieces carved into it. A powerful wave of warmth rushed up his arm, and he nearly fell over. Sparks flew the tip, and something like the ghost of a phoenix rushed out, and with a screech, disappeared again. Fizz shook, and Mr. Ollivander and Trinity gave him quite a funny look.  
"Well, that decides it. That's the one for you." He reasoned, stroking his gray beard thoughtfully, a bit nervously, even.  
"How much?" Fizz asked, trying to act as though noting out of the ordinary had just happened as he pocketed his wand.  
"Nothing, my boy, don't worry about it....Just promise me you shan't forget old Mr. Ollivander...." Trinity and Fizz nodded nervously, thanked him, and exited the shop quickly, leaving Mr. Ollivander to stroke his gray beard and think. 


	3. The Hogwarts Express

Chapter 3 The Hogwarts Express  
  
Fizz was sitting in the front of a small, rundown car, staring up at the gray September sky and listening to his uncle sing loudly along with the radio. Even though it was boiling hot in the car, he didn't seem to notice- his nerves were too busy jumping around for him to notice much of anything. The smell of tea and biscuits in the backseat made him hungry and sick at the same time- the biscuits were smooth and round, reminding him for the millionth time that the full moon was that night. Just his luck- already, he was feeling ill, and that meant that no matter what, he'd barely be able to eat much of anything at the Great Feast, because he'd probably be locked up in the dorm room. Thoughts of that evening were swept from his mind quickly, however, as they pulled up to King's Cross Station.  
Between them, Fizz and his uncle were able to carry all their things, and stopped to rest and think beneath the large plastic nine that marked the platform.  
"Where is 9 3/4, then? I see nine and ten, but no three-quarters. Are you sure it's here?" Fizz asked doubtfully, as Muggles (non-magic folk) rushed by, chattering and jumping onto the train. His uncle laughed merrily, and looked up anxiously at the moon before answering.  
"In between, you have to walk through the brick barrier." Fizz stared at his uncle as if he were mad, and wondered if the moon had risen early for a moment. "I'm not joking, Fizz. Watch, I'll go first." His uncle walked casually up to the barrier and leaned against it, then slowly his head disappeared, then his torso, then his legs, then all of him. Curious, he went up to the wall and, as if suspecting a joke, pushed on it with all his might- and fell straight through onto a new platform, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, to be exact. He stood up, slightly unnerved at having fallen straight through a brick wall, and blushed slightly at the boy who was laughing at him. Not to his surprise, he turned to see Lupin heading towards the boarding area, but he didn't want to follow quite yet.  
Figuring he might as well make some friends, he went over to where two boys (one of which had laughed at him) were chuckling with another girl, who had a cold and angry expression on.  
"Those beads make you look like a curtain, or a little girl's shoe." Fizz snarled when he heard the smaller boy say that, and had to fight down the urge to launch himself at the boy.  
"Lay off. What'd she do to you?" He snapped bravely, stepping in front of the girl (who left quite quickly, the beads in her hair clicking) and facing the boy. The boy laughed right in his face, and turned to leave, but Fizz grabbed his sleeve and forced him to turn around. Frowning, the boy ignored his brother's protests, and after rolling up his sleeves, launched himself at Fizz. He landed a powerful punch in Fizz's stomach, and tried to knock him down, but as soon as he felt concrete he made himself jump up again. Something in him shut off, he was ice- his left arm throbbed, and he knew that, somehow, he could feel no pain. With a loud cry, he launched himself at the boy, who stared at him, and Fizz clawed. Unearthly howls spilled from his throat, and he found himself once more being thrown on the concrete, tumbling and tripping over his own feet. The boy stared at him, frozen as Fizz's eyes flashed darkly, and suddenly- there was another boy. His brother. The first boy backed off and cheered, calling out "Alexei! Alexei!" at the top of his lungs. Alexei, as his name turned out to be, didn't even give Fizz a chance to pull back his arm for a punch- he kicked him, fast and hard, and whacked him powerfully across the face. Fizz coughed- blood was coming out of his mouth, and he curled into a ball, hiding from the torrent of punches and kicks coming from Alexei. A howl filled his ears, like the call of an owl almost, and smoke clouded his vision, and the other boy kicked him once, hard, and he was tumbling, rolling, his neck resting on something cold and metallic. The howling grew louder, and the metal began to vibrate, but Fizz could barely think- it was as if his mind was frozen, numb- but he could feel, and he felt the strong arms lifting him and setting him down away from the railroad tracks he had been thrown onto.  
He shivered and cough, slowly sitting up. People skirted around him, so as not to get too near to him, but he didn't mind. There was blood on his nails and arms, human blood. Coughing violently, (but whether that was from the fact that it was a full moon that night or the kick to the stomach, he couldn't tell) he forced himself up onto his knees and began to walk towards the station. He was suddenly quite relieved that his uncle had taken his bags with him- all he could handle now was making it up to the train and sitting down. To his surprise, when he stumbled, a pairs of arms lifted him up, and helped support him to the back compartment. His vision was beginning to clear, but he still felt ill, and tired- what he wanted to do, just then, was curl up into a ball and fall asleep.  
And so he did.  
  
Only a half hour or so had passed when he next awoke, his head throbbing and his lips dry and painful- for that matter, everything was painful. Someone was shaking him, and he opened his eyes slowly- one was swollen, and the other was wincing because of the bright light. The train rumbled, and he cringed every time it hit a bump and jostled him. It was a moment before he realized that someone was trying to pour water into his mouth, while another voice was talking importantly, as if giving instructions. He spat the water, and out of instinct, jumped up and crouched in the back of the compartment, shaking and wondering why on earth today had to be a full moon, as if life wasn't already difficult enough.  
"Calm down, we're only trying to help you!" A voice told him, and he felt an arm on his shoulder. He looked up to see Trinity, the girl from the bookstore, kneeling next to him with a large book in her hands, that was, by the title (Magical and Herbal Remedies and how To Use Them) a book on medicine and such. Relaxing, more by force than anything, he let the other girl pour water into his mouth, which felt so good on his hoarse throat he thought he would faint.  
"Have you seen a boy come by here, bleeding, looking like he had been in a fight? Small, long browny-gold hair? Excuse me, I'm trying to get through- excuse me, sorry, pardon me, I'm a teacher, let me through- Romulus!" His uncle had pushed his way through the crowded compartments, to the one where Fizz was crouching in a corner. Obviously, this seemed to unnerve his uncle, who turned pale. "Are you all right? Why the hell did you get into a fight?"  
"He's fine, Professor. And he was defending me, the boy was harassing me." The other girl said, speaking up with more bravery than she looked like she had. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and Lupin couldn't help but smile- this one was going into Gryffindor, no doubt about that. With strength that seemed odd coming from him, Lupin lifted him and lay him on one of the seats. Fizz sat up and stretched, painfully, wishing quite suddenly that he was home, in bed, with his potions that he always made. He lurched quite suddenly, shaking and coughing violently, unable to say anything but "Potion...." To his relief, his uncle understood immediately what he said, but it did him no good.  
Trinity and the other girl were watching him; Trinity with an expression of deep thought and curiosity, the other girl with a worried expression.  
"I'll send an owl to Professor Snape; in the meantime, stay here. And please, Fizz, don't get into anymore fights!" His uncle said, half joking, half begging.  
"I don't like it anymore than you do," Fizz replied, staring down at his nails, which were now clean. Nodding, his uncle smiled and left. He was quite glad his uncle would be at Hogwarts with him- it was going to be hard enough, as it was.  
"Thanks, Trinity, and er-" He started, but stopped, realizing he hadn't the faintest idea of the other girl's name.  
"Rory. Rory Motts. I feel bad now, it's my fault you're so, uh...." Rory couldn't think of quite the words.  
"Battered? Mutilated? Torn? Bloody?" Fizz offered, smiling cheerfully so she would know he was joking.  
"Bigheaded sounds about right, don't you think?" Trinity provided, pretending to be deep in thought as she chewed on the end of her peacock quill. They all laughed, even Fizz, who tried to ignore the pain in his ribs and lungs as he chuckled. "Now hold still, or this will hurt." Trinity warned, pulling out her wand and pointing it at Fizz's heart.  
"Er, pardon? Is there a reason you are aiming a wand at my heart? Surely I'm not that bigheaded!" Fizz exclaimed, feeling a bit surprised and nervous at the same time.  
"I know some simple medical spells. Now hold still," She muttered a word or two under her breath and, lo and behold, the pain eased tremendously and Fizz did not look quite so battered, mutilated, torn and bloody. "Feel better?"  
"Much. Hungry, though...." He said, as plump little witch with a cart filled with chocolate frogs, acid pops, cockroach clusters, soda, pumpkin juice, nougats, toffees; it seemed as though all the candy in the world had been piled onto that cart, and Fizz, Rory and Trinity quickly dished out the money and the plump little witch dished out the food. All of them ate hungrily, and Fizz felt as though he hadn't eaten in days, when it had in fact been only a few hours.  
"Where are you guys from?" Fizz asked curiously, his mouth full of bittersweet chocolate.  
"Ireland," Trinity offered, yanking her red curls into a ponytail. That would make sense, he thought to himself- she had the looks and voice of the Irish.  
"I travel," Rory explained, winking a brown eye. "You?"  
"Liverpool. I'm sure I sound like it," Fizz joked, feeling a little dizzy as he leaned towards the window to see out. In fact, both Trinity and Rory had noticed, but had not asked- the sound of his words were enough proof for them. The conversation drifted, and Fizz thought of all the stories he had heard of Hogwarts as he stared out the window. How his uncle and his friends had created a map, how they were always getting in trouble, how his friends had become illegal Animagi to keep him company during the full moon, how Snape was known for hating their family, how....So many stories flooded his mind, and he smiled; he could hear his uncle's voice telling them to him, telling of the mischief they used to make, then scolding himself for putting ideas into Fizz's head.  
One of the first facts of life that Fizz had learned was "never reveal more than you need to, but never lie" and "Always learn and answer questions, unless you aren't supposed to know the answer". Both of those, Lupin had warned him, would be important- especially Fizz being who he was, and Lupin being who he was. The fact that Lupin was a werewolf put many people on edge with him- they thought of him as cruel, dangerous, vicious- when he was, in fact, quite the opposite. That had always been a shadow over Fizz's childhood- he had never had any friends, because everyone hated his family, and those who didn't were afraid of him; him and his cat-eyes. They would cross the street to be away from him, but Fizz was used to it- he had grown up alone, and never expected anything more at Hogwarts.  
But the open and apparent friendliness of Rory and Trinity caught him off guard- he was used to being shunned, hated; it was uncomfortable, it made him nervous to know that some actually liked him. And not just for the fact that- well, now that he thought about it, he couldn't think of any real reasons why anyone would like him. He wasn't very funny- but then again, he had never had anyone but his family to share jokes. Boldness was out of the question- going up and getting in a fight was fine and all, but he was quiet, and it wasn't as if he enjoyed pain and blood. In fact, the sight of blood near made him sick. Especially if it wasn't his own. He ran off a list of attributes, trying to figure out why the two girls were being so kind, and then it struck him- they were girls. How was he supposed to know what they were thinking? It was a fact his uncle had often repeated, when his mother was angry for apparently no reason, "It's a woman thing. You know, like buying things no one would ever need." After which, Fizz's mother would remind the two of them how often they went to Zonko's to buy toys, or to HoneyDuke's to buy loads and loads of candy ("No, don't you dare show me the chocolate," His mother often warned, covering her eyes and running to her bedroom. "I can't stand it when I'm on a diet!"), which they, of course, never needed. But then again, his mother didn't really need that entire Daily Prophet collection, or that box of seemingly worthless feathers on the mantle, but she said she did. And Fizz and his uncle never argued- to even mention the box of feathers was to risk no supper for quite a while.  
When he was little, he had used to take the box of feathers down and sat with them, on the carpet, and put them in his potions- but whenever he did that, the potion wouldn't work and his mother would watch him nervously for days after. He had never understood that, and fingered the vial on its chain around his neck- a gift he had had for as long as he could remember. The vial was made of glass, with unbreakable charms on it, filled with a thick silver liquid, spiraling with another, thin, runny and sparkling clear, like water. He had asked his mother what it was millions of times, but she didn't know what it was, and Lupin, if he did know, put on quite an act of not knowing. The only person, Fizz had come to believe, that knew what it was would be Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts. "Fizz! Trinity! Look, the train's slowing down!" Rory called from her perch at a window, waving the two of them over and watching as the trees slowly came into focus. They had arrived near a lake, and everyone scrambled out of the train; first years went to the left, towards a huge man, nearly a giant, while the others left to the right where they headed towards the school. The giant-man was calling out to the first years, loading them up into boats, as the water pounded down on them. Fizz ended up alone in a tiny rowboat with the giant-man, who clapped him heavily on the back and welcomed him.  
"I'm Hagrid, Keeper of the Grounds and Keys. And yer Fizz, right?" The giant-man asked, calling out directions as everyone rowed towards the opposite end of the shore. Fizz was about to answer, when he fell off the side of his boat (there was a great wind), narrowly missing a rock when Hagrid grabbed his robe and yanked him back into a boat.  
"Yes," Fizz responded, coughing up water as they plowed through the water towards the shore. They were all filed into the school, up a million stairs and down a few, through more doors than Fizz had seen in his life into a large, glittering, torch-lit room where it seemed the entire world sat, dressed in robes of black and scarlet, black and yellow, black and green, and black and blue. Needless to say, there was a lot of black.  
All of them sat down at a table, shivering with nerves and cold, when two professors stepped onto a platform at the front of the room. One silenced half the room with a merry grin and twinkling eyes, the other half was silenced by a severe frown and serious looks over serious glasses.  
The school year had begun. 


End file.
